at a stroke

Why me ? has a direct answer – why not ? 

  Nobody is exempt from trouble though you do wish  people would do more to help themselves.   However as I have been told at least twice in what follows that I do what is recommended, you come back to my father’s WWI phrase – my number came up.  Jewish beshert, Muslim insh’allah, all purpose – my turn.  Meant.

Tuesday 30 May the amlodipine prescribed to bring down my high blood pressure was doubled.  Friday 2 June I went to go down the two shallow front steps and the right side of my body absented itself.  Unsettling. Didn’t last very long.  Drew breath and went to get the paper.   Sunday 4 June lesser reprise of same sensation while on a bus, again over soon.  I rang the GP first thing on Monday 5 June and was asked “Which A&E do you usually go to ?”   I said I had only been to A&E once – St.  Thomas’s.  

Told not to go on the bus I foolishly thought I could find a cab.  I did eventually.  

I was in St.T’s for four hours plus, every test they could think of, wonderful personnel – Irish, Australian, mainland Chinese, British and African black, and more.  They could teach manners.   Fab.  In the afternoon Niamh told me they had consulted with Kings College Hospital’s more comprehensive stroke unit and were transferring me.   By ambulance,

with Oakland from California, Charlie and Mathilde, a Portuguese African with a face of handsome symmetry.

Waiting in KCH took five hours, blood taken, questions asked and when the registrar (Joe, looked like a fox) got to me, I was starving and short with him.   “What you don’t understand “he said “is that I have to deal with everybody who is more ill than you – so three strokes …” I apologised, said I was told not to eat and –   “Five hours is normal” he said.  “We know we are not offering the best service.”   If this is the NHS on strike, I’d love to watch full stretch.    

At 2.00 after brain scans and radiography accessed by wheelchair, Joe decided to keep me overnight where I was monitored throughout and woken hourly.  He suggested that I had some narrowing of two access points of blood to the brain, probably narrow from birth.  As I aged, the blood pushed a bit harder to get round, and the blood pressure went up.  The medicine prescribed to suppress the blood pressure confused the body  – hence TIA (transient ischaemic attack). 

Red light time.

On Tuesday morning after we had all laughed at me discovering the split up the back of the hospital gown when the doctor asked me to walk, I was allowed home on the promise that I would take the medications provided exactly as described and if I had any symptoms in the next two weeks, I would get back to KCH fast.

Classic example of the life you live until something big changes.  My son said “I’m so sorry you had to go through that alone.”  I’m not. Why should somebody else spend five hours sitting on uncomfortable chairs to hold my hand ?  There were people and as long as there are people, I can cope with a lot.  

• and that would be a lot of people

Some time in there I began mentally packing the bag for next time – clean knickers, warm shawl, water, fruit …  I took a book and a scarf.   I thought about who to tell and how to tell.   It’s oddly consoling to be taking exactly the same drugs as the mothers of two friends.    I was taken aback by Dan who in the midst of his own difficulties, organised a mobile phone and took time to explain it to me.  Linda sent a blood pressure monitor.   Annie asked why didn’t you call someone ?   And I had to try and explain I wasn’t looking to make a problem.  Not a hero.  It didn’t occur to me.

But as of now, I asked people to check on me. I ask for help,   I count it as late but essential growing up and I want it made mandatory that you can’t hold office as Secretary for Health if you don’t spend  one night every week overnight in a hospital.   If you haven’t seen and heard it, you don’t know – and I am glad that I do.